Vanilla and Ginger
by Oblivious Chips
Summary: RonxDraco Ron Weasley is a spiraling alcoholic who can't seem to get his act together. He and Hermione broke off their long-standing engagement and Ron is on the rebound. While spending his time wasting away at a local pub, he meets someone of interest...
1. Prologue

It was a hot August evening in England; just like any other summer day. Not even a soft sough could be heard from outside. The earth was parched and deprived of even the tiniest droplet of water so that the agrestic grass had ripened into bright hay yellow, complimenting the color of the prominent sun over head. Upon closer inspection, one could observe gnomes in the moving blades; their brown bodies disporting about here and there mischievously through the fields of rye that was the front yard of the Burrow.

This is what Ron faced as he stared through the circular kitchen window, glancing unseeingly as one gnome stumbled over the other and both of them toppled in the grass. The garden pests were emitting a fit of grumbles and shrieks in their fury as they struggled to disentangle themselves. Even so, the only sound to be heard in the entirety of the Burrow was Hermione. And Ron hung on to every syllable.

Ron was at a loss for words as he opened his mouth to respond, but finally fighting some deep eternal struggle to swallow his pride and stubbornness, he spoke up for the first time in several minutes.

"I guess that's it then. The engagement's over."

Ron had intended for this to be a question, but his low tone made it sound like a simple restatement.

"I suppose so." said Hermione quietly; he could tell even facing his back to her that she was on the verge of tears. Ron was tempted to turn around and comfort her face-to-face but he couldn't bring himself to move his body, which was still leaning over the kitchen sink, staring blankly at the surroundings.

Without saying good-bye, Hermione rushed out of the room with a sweeping motion and retreated from the Burrow.

All the while, Ron heard her departing foot steps and listened intently for that final slam of the front door, signaling that Hermione was gone. Ron leaned closer over the sink, his eyes darting for any sign of the retreating Hermione. Nothing living was in sight except the gnomes, who had settled back on their feet and were going about their business of ravaging the yard as usual. She had disapparated.

A feeling of utter abandonment swept over him at the thought that Hermione may not have just walked out their marriage but out of his life.


	2. A Toast

e were whispers echoing urgently from upstairs and Ron had a hunch that his family had heard everything. He now regretted more than ever not using an Imperturbable Charm. In about five to ten minutes time-- to give Ron that sense of false security that there was no eavesdropping on his personal affairs-- his mum accompanied by dad, Bill, Charlie, George, Ginny, and maybe even Percy would descend down those zigzagging stairs and trod into the kitchen and living room as casually as they could in single-file line. It would be pretty embarrassing, so Ron decided to bide his time by fixing himself a drink. There was a small bottle of scotch in the back of the fridge. And he poured a tall generous glass of it to the rim without ice; true scotch lovers abhor ice.

There they came. With the pitter-patter of about a dozen feet down the stairs and the violent squeaking of the long-since abused wooden steps. When there's a full-house, no secrets are kept and privacy was not a virtue. Either way, the news would leak out; Hermione would tell Harry. He was sure of that.

"Ronald!" yelled Mrs. Weasley's voice, sounding in disapproval as she entered through the kitchen door. It looked to Ron like she had heard from the grape vine or more accurately, the floor boards. She always seemed to be interested in Ron's love life, the only thing he really wanted her to butt out of. His mum had always been obliged to take sides when arguments were had, but right now she seemed indecisive on whether to be sore at Hermione for springing this up after a family-gathering or at Ron for not pulling his act together.

"You're drinking!"

"It's for his grievings, mum. You're not being sensitive." George sprang up, coming into the kitchen. In a more serious manner, George gave his brother a sympathetic look and clamped him on the back, almost causing Ron to spill his drink. "Sorry about Hermione, mate."

"Let the boy be, Molly."Mr. Weasley said with a sigh. If he was annoyed that Ron had discovered his hidden stash of scotch, he concealed it well.

"So Ron--"

Ron had a sense that his dad was about to give that "there are a lot of fish in the sea" speech. He always gave that speech any time the Weasley brothers had girl trouble. He left the boy trouble with Ginny to his mum to save awkward parenting moments.

It wasn't the first time Ron had heard the speech. Back in his sixth year of Hogwarts when Lavender Brown had presumably dumped him, he struck it up somehow in a conversation with his dad and the talk was lunged at him. He wondered why his brothers had never warned him beforehand when George's background chuckling answered his question.

"You don't even bother pretending you haven't spied on me!" Ron interrupted desperately. "Got to get ready for work--"

"I thought you have a day off." Ginny had come in, sitting herself gingerly on a wooden stool. She was frowning up at Ron, who looked incredibly glum.

Ron clanked his pellucid glass on the counter, edging towards the door. He just wanted to get out of the Burrow, back safely to his own flat. His family meant well but if he felt like venting to anyone right now, it was to his best friend, Harry.

"Yeah, but I have to get ready for tomorrow..."

The second he was outside the kitchen door and in the living room, he encountered his older brothers: Bill, Charlie, and Percy all conversing on a large couch with patterned upholstery. All three of them went quiet and rose from their cushions. "Ron--"

"Don't say it-- I know."

_You're all sorry about Hermione, want me to stop drinking, and know it's my day off. _

Without wondering whether or not this was in chronological order, Ron disapparated with a crack.

"Yeah, I know."

Ron had met up with Harry just hours after he had left his parents' house. They had gone down Diagon Alley and wandered into a local pub that had just appeared the previous year. It was called The Bronze Dragon. The Bronze Dragon was a popular hang out with its dim candle-lit surroundings and Shrieking Sopranos background music, which was literally rhythmic high-pitch piercing shrieks chorused out to an instrumental beat. In Ron's opinion, it was almost as bad as the acoustics provided when a ghost celebrates his death day. Despite that, it was the most convenient place to go when it came to walking distance to and from his flat and the menu selection wasn't too shabby either.

He and Harry were stationed in the bar stools up front; it was Ron's favorite spot because he didn't have to push and rake his way through the hubbub to get to the bar and no one needed to wait on him to take his order.

"Hermione told you." Ron stated, rubbing his temple irritably.

"Yeah, she did." Harry confirmed, adjusting his glasses to his nose. Harry took notice of Ron's demeanor and started in a more consoling manner, "You'll still be friends. No matter how vexed you two are at each other."

Ron grunted depressingly into his Butter Beer. He wanted desperately to believe what Harry had said was true but at this point he really didn't know what to believe. A slide show of the worst out comes kept flashing in his head; things that had haunted him only in his adolescent years attending Hogwarts were now rearing their ugly heads.

A vivid image of Hermione dashing into Viktor Krum's arms... Hermione in a flowing white gown and veil with that Cormac Mclaggen in a funny bow tie and dress robes... wedding bells ringing... Ron shuddered.

"Need a drink here!" Ron ushered to the bar tender.

"I thought you were going to take it easy." said Harry.

"I'm going to. But for now I can't live off Butter Beers alone."

"I don't mind them, really." remarked Harry, purposefully taking a sip of his.

"Me either, but I go for the stronger stuff. I'm no house elf."

The bar tender approached Ron with another foaming Butter Beer and placed it wordlessly on the table next to his empty cup. Ron eyed it with dissatisfaction.

"That's what you get when you aren't specific." Harry smiled, not looking at all devastated at this mistake. "I'm going to call it a night." he added, "Since I'm already at it, want me to pay both tabs?"

"No, I'm capable."

Ron didn't like it when people offered to pay for him. He wasn't exactly privileged growing up and he didn't have too much pocket change on him but he still didn't want people shelling out their gold to him. It never stopped Harry for being generous though.

"Are you going to be okay without me?"

"I'll live." Ron smiled weakly. "G' night."

"All right then. Good night." Harry fished his wallet out and slid a few Sickles onto the counter. It was a few too many Sickles. Just about enough to pay for three drinks. Before Ron could open his mouth to protest, Harry was out the door in a speedy blur and into the night.


	3. Draco Malfoy

"Not even able to afford your own beverage yet, Weasley?"

Ron was familiar with that drawling voice. It rang a bell somewhere in his repressed memories. He whirled around to the neighboring seat and sure enough its occupant was Draco Malfoy.

The last time he even laid eyes on Draco was his seventh and final year of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. From the looks of it, the years hadn't been so hard on him. No premature bald spots, pasty skin, or pot belly in sight to Ron's disappointment. He had the same pale complexion he had always possessed in his school days, his physique was still as slim and lean as ever, and there was still that tuft of white blond hair combed neatly on the top of his head. It didn't look like he had changed at all. The only visible difference was that he had grown a few inches in height and there were small shadows under his eyes indicating that he hadn't been getting his eight hours. Over all, it was still the same Draco Malfoy from five years ago.

"Draco?" Ron said, blinking in mingled anger and surprise. He scanned Draco from head to foot as if he was the eighth wonder of the world.

"You act like I disappeared off the face of the earth." Draco had his elbows on the counter and his long legs were crossed in an odd position on the high stool so that they were in a tight knot dangling just centimeters over the floor.

"You practically did."

"Try about five years. And to think, I haven't seen that freckled face of yours since I left that ruddy excuse for a school."

"Or just since you hit puberty. " Ron said testily. "Now go away."

"I hit puberty long before I was seventeen. And I'm not going anywhere, Weasley."

"Are you still reducing to surnames?"

"When there are so many of your lot, it's no point keeping tabs. Do us all a favor and stop procreating."

"Come off it. You came here to start a quarrel?" Ron glared at him and went on, "And anyways, what're you doing all alone in a bar for?"

The other Male's eyes flashed and for what lasted a millisecond, Ron could see the loneliness behind those pupils. His eyes never seemed so gray. And then as quickly as it had come, it vanished and was forcibly masked by intense loathing and a permanent scowl.

"I wasn't alone. I was with a colleague."

"Really now? Which colleague?"

"Mr. Meloon."

"Meloon, you say? Never heard of him."

"Of course you've never heard of him. People don't want to be associated with you."

"You don't have to get so defensive about it."

"I'm not being defensive." Draco said defensively. He began fumbling with Ron's napkin between his index and forefinger, apparently concentrating hard on something.

"All right, all right. So this Mr. Meloon, what kind of a bloke is he?"

But Draco wouldn't answer; he suddenly looked like he had just struck a gold mine and fended off all the festering Goblins single-handedly.

"Where's Granger?" he said slyly.

A realization came to Ron. Draco hadn't just taken a odd liking to his handkerchief, he was rummaging through his thoughts to find his vulnerable spot. Something that would really set him off. A crab can snap and bare its claws but that doesn't change the fact that it has soft succulent meat. And Draco wanted to pluck at it with a fork and soak it with butter.

"Out." Ron mumbled stiffly.

"Out? Out where? I thought you would be tying the knot with that mud-blood by now." Draco's lips curved into an unpleasant victorious smile.

It all happened so fast.

In his fury, Ron had stood up from his seat so quickly that it had fallen over with a wooden thud that was drowned out by the liveliness of the pub. He grasped the blond by the collar and aimed a ready fist directly at his face.

Draco flinched and all the triumph was draining from his eyes along with the remaining color in his already pallor skin. A stab of fear reached him as he awaited the anticipated blow.

But the punch never came.

Ron had hesitated and lowered his fist, nevertheless clenching it so tight that his knuckles were noticeably white. He wanted Draco to give him another reason to pummel him. Just one more reason and he would be satisfied. But Draco still sat timorous, mouth agape petrified on his chair like a mouse caught in a trap.

The static between them attracted a small crowd of people who were either glancing curiously over their shoulders or circling around the pair.

It was time to vamoose, and without so much as a glance at Draco or the crowd, Ron disapparated.


End file.
